


The Life and Times of the Creature Known as Frumpkin, Cat

by mnemememory



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Short and Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-09-02 12:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16786588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemememory/pseuds/mnemememory
Summary: Frumpkin's thoughts on the Mighty Nein. And Caleb.Mostly Caleb.





	1. Caleb

**Author's Note:**

> As some of you may know (?) I've been out of commission for a while due to surgery. I've certainly complained enough about it on [tumblr](http://mnemememory.tumblr.com/). From - get this - a cat bite. I still can't type well, but the lack of activity was fucking with my mind, so I wrote this :) 
> 
> Next chapter is planned for Nott, but I *could* go for Beau, if anyone has a preference.

Frumpkin gives Caleb-warm-master a judgemental look.

Cats are very good at judgemental looks, and Frumpkin is almost a cat, so he’s better than most. Caleb-warm-master manages to ignore him, with is a feat in itself.

Frumpkin considers hopping up and clawing at the seat of Caleb-warm-master’s trousers, but that has historically been a bad idea. Frumpkin doesn’t _mind_ being popped from one place to another, generally, but this room is warm and comfortable, and getting back inside would take more effort than this whole venture was worth.

Nott-sharp-teeth knocks on the door and lets herself in. Frumpkin watches her with lazy eyes and then yawns, showing off his own teeth. See, I can eat you too, if I wanted. Frumpkin doesn’t want to eat Nott-sharp-teeth, but it’s the principle of the thing. Better to let predators know you aren’t easy prey.

Though, of course, if Caleb-warm-master wanted him to sit back, Frumpkin would let it happen. The only difference between Here and There is that Here has Caleb-warm-master, and There does not.

“Caleb,” Nott-sharp-teeth says, inching forward. “Caleb, you’ve been in here all day. You need to eat.”

 _Listen to the shiny one_ , Frumpkin wants to say. He can’t, because he’s a cat, but he wants to say it anyway. _Food is important_. Well, Frumpkin assumes so. Frumpkin doesn’t really need to eat, but Caleb-warm-master does. It had taken a while to learn that. Humans were very strange. The first time Caleb-warm-master had summoned the thing-not-yet-known-as-Frumpkin, he had clutched it to his chest and rocked back and forth for a long time. There had been no mention of food. The thing-not-yet-known-as-Frumpkin hadn’t really _minded_ , but it had been a bit outside of its realm of experience.

The-thing-now-known-as-Frumpkin is now quite good at keeping track of the time, if only because it has become increasingly apparent that Caleb-warm-master is quite inept at doing so himself. Every few hours, like clockwork, Frumpkin must dutifully remind his master that food is a thing that exists. He used to do this by _bringing_ him food – Frumpkin has seen other cat-shaped creatures running around with rats in their mouths, so the logical next step was to do so himself. Caleb-warm-master hadn’t seemed _quite_ as appreciative as Frumpkin thought he should have been, but you could never tell with humans.

Especially Frumpkin’s human. Sometimes he was very easy to understand, and other times he made no sense whatsoever. Frumpkin loved him, of course, because Caleb-warm-master was wonderful, but he was also quite stupid.

Like now.

“I will be down in five minutes,” Caleb-warm-master says, _lying_. It had taken a while to cotton onto the ‘lying’, but Frumpkin is quite good at it now. He’s very proud of himself.

“Okay…” Nott-sharp-teeth says. If there is one thing Frumpkin finds lacking in her master’s chosen companion, it is that Nott-sharp-teeth _listens_ to Caleb-warm-master far too often. Nott-sharp-teeth would make a terrible cat. Frumpkin isn’t even an actual cat, and Frumpkin is a better cat than Nott-sharp-teeth would ever be. “Well, if you want, I could bring something up for you?”

Caleb-warm-master isn’t even listening. He has turned away, nose buried into a book, eyes sharp as he reads the squiggles. He doesn’t even bother to reply, just waves Nott-sharp-teeth away with a vague smile and a “that’s fine thanks”. Frumpkin gives a low _meow_ , which means, _don’t listen to him shiny one what the fuck are you thinking_ , but Nott-sharp-teeth is already turning around and closing the door. Frumpkin gives a sniff, and then gets to his feet. Clearly, if he wants something done right, he has to do it himself.

Stretching out of his languid pose, Frumpkin reluctantly leaves his sunbasking spot by the window. He’s loathe to leave just as the sun is beginning to set, but Frumpkin reminds himself that he is a good cat-creature, and good cat-creatures take care of their masters. No matter how stupid.

He almost misjudges the distance between the bed and the window, but the stumble isn’t _too_ noticeable. Frumpkin discretely checks that Caleb-warm-master hasn’t seen the misstep, but no, Caleb-warm-master is still reading. He’s always reading. That usually wouldn’t be an issue, but…

Frumpkin pads over and unsheathes his claws.

…

…

Hours later, Caleb-warm-master drags himself back into the room he shares with Frumpkin (and Nott-sharp-teeth) (but mostly Frumpkin). His cheeks are flushes, and there is a small smile on his face.

Three small globules of light spin lazily around as Caleb-warm-master gets changed into his more comfortable sleep-clothing. Frumpkin glances up from where he has made himself very comfortable on Caleb-warm-master’s pillow, thank you, why do I have to move? He’s used to the light, though the first few times Caleb-warm-master had made them, Frumpkin had felt the uncontrollable and frankly ludicrous urge to jump at them. It was all a bit embarrassing, looking back. Frumpkin has a better handle on these cat-creature-things _now_ , but back then. Well. Frumpkin has done some things he isn’t exactly _proud_ of. Caleb-warm-master is nice enough not to hold it against him.

Caleb-warm-master starts to lie down on the bed, and then realises that he’s about to lie on top of Frumpkin. He manages to stop himself, but only just. He gives out a low laugh.

“My friend,” he says, scratching Frumpkin behind the ears just the way Frumpkin likes it. There are no scratch-marks on his hands, so that nice Jester-blue-healer must have magicked them away. Frumpkin like Jester-blue-healer, if only because she is very good at taking care of Caleb-warm-master. “What would I do without you?”

Not a lot, probably.

Frumpkin decides to forgive him, slinking off the pillow and curling up on Caleb-warm-master’s collarbone. Caleb-warm-master makes a small sound of protest, reaching for his book, but Frumpkin begins to purr. Loudly. _Do to sleep, you stupid wizard_.

Caleb-warm-master could make him stop. Frumpkin will do whatever Caleb-warm-master wants, so if Caleb-warm-master wants him to get off, Frumpkin will do it.

Caleb-warm-master huffs out another laugh and slides the book away, back onto the bedside table. All three lights extinguish with a feint _pop_ , bathing the room in cool darkness. A soft hand begins to stroke down Frumpkin’s back, and Frumpkin snuggles further into Caleb’s tunic.

If cats could smile – well. You get the idea.


	2. Nott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frumpkin-the-cat and Nott-the-not-a-cat have come to an Understanding.

Frumpkin and Nott-sharp-teeth have come to an Understanding.

The Understanding is this – Nott-sharp-teeth will not try to eat Frumpkin unless it is _absolutely necessary_ , and Frumpkin will not mess around with Nott-sharp-teeth’s shiny, shiny vials. It is an effort not to knock them over whenever Nott-sharp-teeth pulls them out to play, but Frumpkin is a cat, and therefore a master of self-control.

Also, every time he tries, he ends up being sent back There, and Caleb-warm-master sometimes takes a while to summon him back. Not unpleasant, though the hissing that Nott-sharp-teeth gives Frumpkin when it happens it almost as good as that of a disgruntled cat. Not perfect, but close. Nott-sharp-teeth has the – well, she has the _teeth_ for it. There are very few things that Nott-sharp-teeth is capable of doing better than Caleb-warm-master (a list which includes such lofty activities as scritches behind the ears and belly rubs), but hissing is one of them.

At the moment, however –

Nott-sharp-teeth should _know_ better than to just. Leave all of her things out on the floor. All of her shiny, shiny things. Frumpkin paces back and forth in front of them, reaching out to tap a paw on one of the empty glass vials. It gives a satisfying _tink_ as it rolls into another vial.

Frumpkin visibly twitches.

Caleb-warm-master is downstairs, eating dinner. This is good. Dinner is important. Though dinner has apparently become _so_ important that Caleb-warm-master is now insisting that Frumpkin participate, which hadn’t been part of the initial objective. Frumpkin has begun to play dead whenever Jester-blue-healer comes to drag them all downstairs. Caleb-warm-master seems to recognise the performance for what it is, but hasn’t done anything about it. _Yet_.

Today is similar, in that Frumpkin had lain out against the windowsill and gone boneless when Caleb-warm-master had called, “Frumpkin. Frumpkin.”

“Let him sleep, Caleb,” Jester-blue-healer says cheerfully, which is why Jester-blue-healer is Frumpkin’s _favourite_. Well, second favourite. It’s a rotating system. Though “favourite” isn’t exactly a fair term, given that Caleb-warm-master wins out in every category, every time. Frumpkin wonders sometimes if he’s taking this “familiar” thing too far, but no one has contradicted him so far, and. And besides. Caleb-warm-master _needs_ him. And Frumpkin loves Caleb-warm-master.

Which does absolutely nothing in Frumpkin’s current predicament, which consists of a lot of unoccupied and unobserved glass vials just sitting there, _begging_ to be knocked over.

Nott-sharp-teeth had been sitting on the ground by Caleb-warm-master’s bed, talking to herself as she unscrewed different jars and poured foul-smelling liquid from one thing to another. One vial has a set of buttons stacked at the bottom, fizzing away. Another has a clear liquid that pulsates in a way that isn’t quite colour, but gives the suggestion of. It smells absolutely terrible.

Slowly, very slowly, Frumpkin goes to check the door.

Caleb-warm-master is still downstairs. Frumpkin can feel him, a glow of warmth that spread sup through Frumpkin’s paws. Frumpkin can infer, therefore, that Nott-sharp-teeth is also downstairs. Largely because Nott-sharp-teeth is not very good at being subtle while drunk. And Nott-sharp-teeth is always drunk.

Assured of a clear hallway, Frumpkin goes back to the rows of glass vials, studying each for the biggest potential gratification. The buttons are tempting. The buttons are very tempting. Just a little bit of pressure –

Someone walks in.

Frumpkin freezes in place, paw half a distance away from the glass.

Caduceus-tea-rot ambles in, half-smile stretched out across his soft features. Frumpkin approves of Caduceus-tea-rot, as much as Frumpkin approves of anyone other than Caleb-warm-master (and sometimes, whoever is on his sliding scale of favouritism). Caduceus-tea-rot is very good at giving scritches.

Caduceus-tea-rot walks right past Frumpkin and goes to Caleb-warm-master’s bedside table. Just as Frumpkin is about to abandon his thin veil of subterfuge and growl a warning, Caduceus-tea-rot moves on, leaving behind a few sweet-smelling sachets. He does the same for Nott-sharp-teeth’s side of the room, and then calmly walks back to the door.

“I don’t care what you’re up to, just so you know,” Caduceus-tea-rot says. Frumpkin does not jump, because Frumpkin is (currently) a cat-creature with excellent reflexes and a chronic inability to actually be startled, but the thing-Frumpkin-is-when-he-is-not-a-cat comes awfully close. “Just make sure that you keep it contained. We’re all very tired, you know.”

Frumpkin knows. Frumpkin would be tired, too, if Frumpkin was human-like-Caleb-warm-master, if Frumpkin was creature-like-Nott-sharp-teeth. Frumpkin looks like a cat. For all intents and purposes, Frumpkin is as close to a cat as something that is not actually a cat is ever going to be. Frumpkin does not need to eat, or sleep, or breathe (not really); there are certain necessities for this body, but they are easily overcome with the correct preparations. And Caleb-warm-master always makes the correct preparations.

(Frumpkin is tired of watching Caleb-warm-master claw, angry and hot and bloody, across a battlefield with no end. Frumpkin is tired of watching Nott-sharp-teeth flinch away from sudden noises. Frumpkin is tired of watching his human’s chosen companions, people who can give almost a good a belly-rub as Caleb-warm-master, frightened and defeated and scared. So scared).

(But Frumpkin is just a cat. The best he can do is curl up alongside Caleb-warm-master and purr).

Caduceus-tea-rot leaves. With a deliberate kind of defiance, Frumpkin leans forward and knocks over the vial of buttons.

…

…

“I’M GOING TO EAT YOU!”

On some level, Frumpkin was aware that this series of events was inevitable. Nott-sharp-teeth is a predator. Frumpkin is a thing-to-be-eaten.

This seems a bit extreme, however.

“Be careful of the –” Caleb-warm-master starts to say, just as Frumpkin zig-sags around the curtains and Nott-sharp-teeth (who has no peripheral vision to speak of) slams into the window. Frumpkin would have laughed, if he weren’t a cat, but cats were better than that.

“GET BACK HERE YOU STUPID CAT!” Nott-sharp-teeth howls.

Frumpkin is offended. If anyone is stupid here, it is definitely Nott-sharp-teeth, who just _left_ her chemistry set out in the open. What was Frumpkin supposed to do, _not_ knock it over?

This might be a little more than Frumpkin can handle, though. There are only so many places in this room that Frumpkin can hide, and Nott-sharp-teeth is small enough to take advantage of the fact. The door is closed. Nott-sharp-teeth is fast, and strong, and also has very sharp teeth. _Incredibly_ sharp teeth. Frumpkin has never quite forgotten the fact, but right now he can’t quite seem to stop focusing on them. Lots and lots of teeth.

Almost as Frumpkin resigns himself to being eaten _again_ , the indignity, Caleb-warm-master snaps his fingers and Frumpkin is in his hands and away from Nott-sharp-teeth’s very sharp teeth.

It takes a few seconds for Frumpkin to realise that he is safe, during which he huddles closer to Caleb-warm-master and does his best limpet impression. Frumpkin has never been a limpet. He’s been many things, but he likes being a cat the best.

“You just ate downstairs,” Caleb-warm-master says. Caleb-warm-master is Frumpkin’s favourite _everything_. “You do not need to eat my cat.”

“That _mangy, flea-bitten mongrel_ burned a hole in the floor! Using my good acid! I was cleaning my buttons with that!”

“I will buy you some new buttons later,” Caleb-warm-master says, petting Frumpkin. Frumpkin cuddles close and doesn’t-quite-give-a-smile at Nott-sharp-teeth.

Nott-sharp-teeth gives an incredibly cat-like hiss and _lunges_.

…

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend is out rn, so I can post this week! Whoo! (I'm dying it's forty-fucking-degrees here wtf why *why*). 
> 
> Replies to comments should be up tomorrow! I'm so behind RIP. Thank you everyone who's been enjoying this <3


	3. Beau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Life and Times of the Creature Known as Frumpkin, the one-ounce-owl

Life looks very different from the inside of someone’s pocket.

Frumpkin is used to seeing the world from – well, if not a _tall_ vantage point, then at least an average-sized one. Caleb-warm-master’s shoulder serves a duel purpose of being a cozy place to curl up and nap and an easy way of keeping a close eye on Caleb-warm-master’s little group of crazy people. If Frumpkin wants to get in the way of someone coming up the stairs, he makes the conscious effort to get off Caleb-warm-master’s shoulders and curl around their ankles, but that’s about the only reason he wanders around anywhere.

Inside Beau-gruff-voice’s pocket, it is very dark, and very warm.

Frumpkin is not a cat at the moment, for reasons that have yet to be fully explained to Frumpkin. Caleb-warm-master obviously has a very good reason for Frumpkin being not-a-cat, and he certainly doesn’t have to explain himself to not-a-cat-Frumpkin, but there is something strangely disconcerting going from the eater to the eaten. When Frumpkin is a cat, it is fun to taunt Nott-sharp-teeth because he is fairly certain that Frumpkin-the-cat can outrun the goblin girl. Frumpkin-the-one-ounce-owl cannot outrun the goblin girl. Frumpkin-the-one-ounce-owl cannot do many things, including experience a proper belly scritch. Head-pats aren’t too bad, Frumpkin decides, but they’re just not as good as belly scritches.

Still, Beau-gruff-voice’s pocket isn’t _terrible_. Frumpkin is predisposed to anything Caleb-warm-master decides to do, so learning to enjoy something is a novel experience. Beau-gruff-voice sometimes lets Frumpkin-the-one-ounce-owl sit on top of her head while she walks around the deck of their pirate ship, wind ruffling pleasantly through his feathers. Mostly at night, when she remembers. Beau-gruff-voice isn’t very good at remembering that Frumpkin-the-one-ounce-owl exists, though.

“I never imagined something like this,” Beau-gruff-voice says in the dead of night. Stars flood the sky in pinks and greens and pale, pale white, light reflecting off the still waters. Frumpkin’s one-ounce-owl-eyes catch it all, his one-ounce-owl-ears listening to the gentle _whoosh, whoosh, whoosh_ of water lapping against the side of the boat. Frumpkin likes this, he decides.

Beau-gruff-voice is standing watch, goggles fitted oddly over her eyes. Frumpkin settles down further into her hair and gives a soft _coo_ in reply.

“For the longest time, I thought I was going to die alone,” she says. “Knifed in some back alley. Knocked over the head just a little bit too hard, and I wasn’t going to get up again. I wasn’t very good at figuring people out.”

Frumpkin thinks about this. _You are still not very good at other people_ , he decides. Caleb-warm-master’s face flashes in his mind, and he wants to let out a deep rumbling purr, but he can’t, because one-ounce-owls’ do not purr. _You’re getting better though_ , he wants to say. He settles for _cooing_ again. It’s a ridiculous sound. Frumpkin much prefers purring.

Beau-gruff-voice lets out a long sigh and leans forward over the railing, forearms carrying her weight. There’s a bone-tired look to her face that matches Caleb-warm-master’s after a long night of binge-reading (something that has become increasingly common over the past few weeks. Frumpkin has a dark suspicion that he has been pawned off _because_ of his continued interference with Caleb-warm-master’s plans to never sleep again. Caleb-warm-master is good at many things, but he would make an absolutely terrible cat).

“These people are –” she shakes her head, lost for words. Frumpkin pats a wing down on the top of her head, but she doesn’t take any notice. Typical. Caleb-warm-master was the same. _Frumpkin, stop walking on my book I’m trying to read_. Maybe it was a human thing? “I can’t believe how important they’ve become.”

It was probably a human thing, Frumpkin decides. Caleb-warm-master is bad at being alone, too.

Frumpkin does not say, _There, there. Everything will be alright_ , because he is a one-ounce-owl. If he were a cat, he would curl up against Caleb-warm-master’s collarbone and refuse to move until Caleb-warm-master either shift-thought him away or relented to what Frumpkin liked to think of as ‘fur therapy’, something which involved a lot of cuddling and also belly scritches, which were the best. One-ounce-owls’ do not have fur. Feathers, Frumpkin knows from a recent experience of trying to snuggle with Caleb-warm-master, make humans sneeze.

“I can’t imagine what I’m going to do without them,” Beau whispers into the night.

Frumpkin regards Beau-gruff-voice with narrow eyes.

Then he leans down and pecks her.

…

…

“Beau! There you are!”

Frumpkin jerks awake from the inside of somewhere small and dark. It takes a few claustrophobic seconds to figure out that yes, he is still in Beau-gruff-voice’s pocket, and yes, he had been exiled there by an ungrateful Beau-gruff-voice after his ‘tough love’ hadn’t gone over as well as Frumpkin had hoped. Frumpkin will never understand people. _Nott_ could get away with biting people, but Frumpkin couldn’t?

“What are you doing up so early, Jester?”

“Early? I am late, Beau. You were supposed to wake me up two hours ago! It was my turn for watch.”

“Oh. Sorry, I was busy.”

“Busy doing _what_? There’s not much to look at out here. Except for clouds. But there are no clouds out here right now. Hey, hey, Beau – yesterday I saw a cloud that looked like a dick.”

“You can look at the stars. And don’t all clouds look like dicks? If you think about it.”

“Yeah, but this one was _especially_ dick-shaped –”

Frumpkin stifled a yawn and shuffled himself into the corner of Beau’s pocket, fluffing up his feathers and settling down for a long sleep. There isn’t much to do in Beau-gruff-voice’s pocket besides sleep, and now is an excellent time to just relax and enjoy the gentle rocking to-and-froe of the boat. Back and forth, baaaack and –

“Or were you thinking about something else? Were you thinking about _Yasha_? Looking up at the stars, thinking about –”

“Jester!”

“That’s _so romantic_ , Beau!”

“I can’t – that wasn’t – I can’t believe you would –”

Frumpkin huffs out a low _coo_ and settles down into the darkness.

…

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello <3 sorry this is a little later than usual, I GOT A NEW LAPTOP and downloading word took a liiitle bit longer than I thought it would. I'm also still getting used to this new keyboard. BUT I GOT A NEW LAPTOP everything is good in the world.
> 
> (side note I'm now broke rip). 
> 
> See you next week!


	4. Jester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jester-blue-healer needs a hug.

Jester-blue-healer gives the best hugs.

Still, this is getting a bit excessive.

Frumpkin looks around the room a little wildly. It’s pitched to darkness, the door locked, the candles gutted out. Morning has yet to make its sunny mark across the bare floorboards. Jester-blue-healer sits on her bed and shivers.

“I am fine,” she says into Frumpkin’s fur. She is smiling. “There is nothing wrong.”

Frumpkin begs to disagree. This feels a little out of his comfort zone. Caleb-warm-master hugs with a quiet kind of desperation, one that needs an anchor in the storm. Nott-sharp-teeth pulls back her lips and snarls whenever Frumpkin tries to get close. She pulls out her sack and spills her button collection across the floor, counting them back one at a time. Frumpkin is intimately aware of that kind of grief, of that kind of pain. There is only so much he can do here.

Jester-blue-healer hugs loudly, with her whole body. She wraps around Frumpkin like a spool of thread and hitches her breath in time with Frumpkin’s slightly desperate purring. _Be calm_ , Frumpkin thinks, but he is ill equipped at helping people when hugging doesn’t work. And from the looks of things, from the amount of time that Jester-blue-healer has spent coiled in this position, hugging isn’t working.

Jester-blue-healer hasn’t eaten anything today, either, and Frumpkin _wouldn’t_ have been worried a few years ago, but Nott-sharp-teeth gets mad at Caleb-warm-master for skipping meals, so there was obviously something important about the process of eating. Frumpkin has spent the last few years honing his human-skills, and Tieflings couldn’t be much different from humans or goblins. Sugar-scent clings to Jester-blue-healer’s body in second skin.

 _She is sweet_ , Caleb-warm-master muses as he and Frumpkin sit side-by-side, campfire flicking bright in the foreground. _I am uneasy around her. Such goodness does not do well in this world._

 _You’re being ridiculous_ , Frumpkin does not say. He crawls onto Caleb-warm-master’s lap, claws extended, so that Caleb-warm-master can feel the full brunt of his wrath. _You’re being too hard on yourself._

 _But yes. She is very sweet_.

Frumpkin wriggles around a little. Jester-blue-healer murmurs something soft into his fur but doesn’t let go. Frumpkin wriggles around some more.

“What’s wrong, little one?”

Something _switches_. Jester-blue-healer’s body jerks up, pulling in a gasp of raw breath like she’s been drowning. Frumpkin skids out of her arms and looks around, eyes narrow and teeth pulled back into his best Nott-sharp-teeth-inspired snarl. _Who’s there_?

“Traveler!” Jester-blue-healer says, voice high and breathy. She’s inches away from mania, and Frumpkin doesn’t know if he should book for the door to find someone to help, or stay here and bite whoever managed to get into the room _without Frumpkin noticing._ Admittedly, sometimes Frumpkin can be a little absent-minded about these things – Caleb-warm-master’s alarm wire is so useful as to breed complacency – but tucked tight in Jester-blue-healer’s arms, Frumpkin had a direct line of sight to the door.

“Oh, Traveler,” Jester-blue-healer says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, arm brushing up against Frumpkin. Frumpkin gives a disgruntled _mreow_ and hops across the covers, tail lashing. His eyes dart around, but there’s nothing in the room. “I’ve been so worried – I mean, I wasn’t sure if I was annoying you, but there have been so many things _happening_ and –”

“I understand,” the voice says.

There!

Frumpkin squints suspiciously at the masked-shadow-creature that stands in the room. There isn’t much substance to it – if Frumpkin jumps, he thinks, Frumpkin would go right through it. Despite having lived out most of his existence as a thing-that-cannot-be-defined, Frumpkin feels his hackles rise. Maybe he has spent too long as a cat. Or perhaps, not enough. Strange things lend themselves to fear, and cats – as best Frumpkin can tell – fear nothing but cold days and a lack of devotion.

“You must have been very frightened, little one,” the masked-shadow-creature says. It leans forward and rests a hand against Jester-blue-healer’s shoulders, and Frumpkin pulls out a low hiss. Jester-blue-healer absently reaches down to pet Frumpkin’s neck, but all of her attention is focused on the thing in front of her. She’s caught, she same way Caleb-warm-master is caught in a library. Frumpkin wonders if biting her hand will prove as ineffective as biting Caleb-warm-master’s hand. Probably.

“I was not frightened,” Jester-blue-healer says, shoulders hunched forward and words coming out thin. “I knew that you were there, watching me. You wouldn’t have let anything _really bad_ happen. I heard you, you know, when – when –”

Jester-blue-healer falters and pulls back a little, struggling to keep the smile set properly onto her face. She takes a few deep breaths, and then straightens out her shoulders and reaches up to cover the masked-shadow-creature’s hand with her own.

“That dragon was very scary,” she says.

“It certainly was.”

“I’ve never seen a dragon before. It looked a lot bigger than I imagined it to be.”

“Dragons come in many shapes and sizes,” the masked-shadow-creature says. “That was merely an adolescent. They can be much smaller, and much bigger.”

“Oh,” Jester-blue-healer says, voice dropping. “Oh, I mean – yes! I am very sure that it wasn’t as big as it could be. It just – I wasn’t expecting to see one in there. It was very surprising! Very – very surprising.”

The masked-shadow-creature reaches down to pull Jester-blue-healer into a hug. She tenses for a long second, and then collapses forward into the embrace, voice hitching with the tell-tale sound of tears.

“I was a little bit afraid,” she whispers. She’s started shivering again. Frumpkin pushes past the masked-shadow-creature and curls up on her lap, face pressed up into her belly. He gives a loud, growling purr. “It was very fast, and I was very hurt, and I –”

“Shh, shh, little one,” the masked-shadow-creature says. “You’ve done so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Jester-blue-healer sniffs. “You are?” she says. “Even though I was scared? And I couldn’t do much?”

Frumpkin purrs louder, glaring up at the masked-shadow-creature.

“I will always be very proud of you,” it says. It just stays there for a long moment, holding Jester-blue-healer close, before pulling back with an affectionate hand through her hair.

“Thank you for being there,” Jester-blue-healer says.

“I’ve told you before,” the masked-shadow-creature says. “I am always here, even when you can’t see me. Especially when you can’t see me. That’s when I’m sure to be around.”

Jester-blue-healer gives a wet kind of laugh, and then seems to pull her face back together. She brings both of her hands down to scoop Frumpkin up to her chest, smile a bright thing. He lets out another _mreow_ , this one more startled confusion than defiance.

“This is Frumpkin,” she says. “He is Caleb’s cat.”

“I know,” the masked-shadow-creature says. “I’ve seen him around before.”

“Isn’t he cute?” Jester-blue-healer says.

“He certainly is.”

“I’ve been hugging him for _ages_ ,” Jester-blue-healer says. “He’s been helping me feel better.”

Well, it was good to know that at least _someone_ appreciated Frumpkin’s attempts to fix people. Nott-sharp-teeth could learn a thing or two from this one.

“That’s good to hear, little one,” the masked-shadow-creature says. It leans forward and places a hand on Frumpkin’s head. For a single, blurred second, they are staring eye-to-eye.

And then the room is empty.

Jester-blue-healer turns Frumpkin around so that they’re facing each other. Her face is wet, but she’s breathing easier, so Frumpkin will take what he can get.

“That was the Traveler,” she says. “Isn’t he amazing?”

Frumpkin leans forward to lick Jester-blue-healer’s nose. Then he settles down for another few good hours of hugging. Food can wait. It is nice to see Jester-blue-healer in such high spirits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this isn't as funny as my last few chapters - I watched Episode 45 and was like "Jester needs a hug so bad", so...Frumpkin provided :P (as did the Traveler). I hope you like it anyway <3
> 
> If it don't manage to post before next Tuesday, Merry Christmas! Or, Merry Day Off! (or Merry Day of Double-Time Pay).


	5. Caduceus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caduceus-tea-rot is very good at being warm. Caleb-warm-master could learn a thing or two.

Frumpkin has come to enjoy certain aspects of his existence as a cat

This includes a deeper appreciation for warmth. Frumpkin-as-a-cat (and also as-other-things) has spent many hours stretched out against the windowsill and leaching in the sun, breathing in-and-out-and-in with slow ease as Caleb-warm-master sits on the bed and reads his latest book. Even on less-than-sunny-days, when the wind is cold and the glass is frosted over, Frumpkin can snuggle up against Caleb-warm-master and purr the day away. Laziness is a new and welcome existence-experience. Being a most-of-the-time cat is a better deal than Frumpkin had originally thought.

There are no windows on a ship, of course. Frumpkin has searched high and low, but the closest he can get to recreate the feeling of sunlight-warmth-contentment is curling up next to Caleb-warm-master, who seems to appreciate Frumpkin’s attentions less as an octopus than he does as a cat. Which would be fine, if Caleb-warm-master would just turn Frumpkin-the-octopus back _into_ a cat, but no. For the moment, Frumpkin must be content to bob up-and-down in a bucket.

“Please stop glaring at me,” Caleb-warm-master says. He is on his bed, book on his lap, notebook balanced on the corner of his right knee. He looks very warm under a pile of blankets. Frumpkin petulantly uses on of his tentacles to make a small splash.

_Hug me_ , Frumpkin does not say. Hugging is also something Frumpkin-as-anything has become strangely fond of.

“I will turn you back into a cat as soon as I am able,” Caleb-warm-master says. Frumpkin makes another splash, a little bigger this time. He is down about a quarter of his water supply. “At the moment, however, I need to read this. I will pick you up when I am finished. I can’t afford to get the paper wet.”

Frumpkin sinks further down into his bucket and considers his options.

He likes none of them.

Caleb-warm-master eventually goes back to his book, and Frumpkin wriggles around in what remains of his water. He can wait for Caleb-warm-master to be done with the book, which will be never, because the moment Caleb-warm-master if finished with this one he will move on to _another_ book. This would usually not be a problem, because Frumpkin-as-a-cat is very good at being (as Jester-blue-healer likes to put it) disruptively cuddly. Frumpkin-as-an-octopus, however, is less disruptively cuddly and more-drip-water-all-over-Caleb-warm-master’s-precious-book cuddly, which is less than ideal. Frumpkin wants to be warm, not to have Caleb-warm-master annoyed at Frumpkin.

The other option –

Frumpkin resigns himself, scrabbling up-and-over the side of the bucket and landing on the floor with a soft _splat_. A quick glance over at Caleb-warm-master shows that he hasn’t noticed anything, too engrossed in his new area-of-interest to really perceive anything else.

Frumpkin uses his tentacles to maneuver towards the door, squeezing underneath the frame with gratifying ease. Once he is out in the hallway, Frumpkin surveys the area, and then begins the slow descent towards the kitchen.

…

…

The kitchen is always warm.

Frumpkin-as-a-cat had discovered this in the middle of the night in the middle of a storm, with sleet soaking abovedeck into a swamp and plastering Frumpkin-as-a-cat’s fur against the bony skeleton of his then-body. Caleb-warm-master had taken one look at Frumpkin’s grumpy face and snapped him downstairs and out of sight, trailing puddles of salt water and snow in his wake.

Engrossed in getting as far away from abovedeck as possible, Frumpkin-as-a-cat had found himself padding towards the kitchen, which – at three AM – had something hot bubbling on the stove and a very large, very sleepy Caduceus-tea-rot slumped in the corner. Frumpkin slunk over to the bolted table and scraped most of the ice off of his fur, reflexively sneezing.

“Hello,” Caduceus-tea-rot rumbled, blinking his eyes open and bending down to look Frumpkin-as-a-cat in the eyes. “What do we have here?”

_I am very cold_ , Frumpkin-as-a-cat did not say. _And Caleb-warm-master banished me downstairs because he doesn’t want me going overboard. I don’t like being cold. Hug me_.

Caduceus-tea-rot bent down and scooped Frumpkin into his arms, and then went to deposit him on the stovetop next to the pot of soup. Frumpkin stared at it suspiciously, and then down at the stovetop, which had been covered with some iron sheets. Being set on fire wasn’t a nice way to temporarily pop out of existence, though it was a little less inconvenient than being eaten.

“Why don’t you just sit there and warm up?” Caduceus-tea-rot said. “I’m going to go upstairs and give the people some food. They’re probably getting a little hungry, right about now.”

Frumpkin gave him a narrow look. _If you go up there, ice will hit you on the head and you will die_.

The water was melting, by now – it trickled uncomfortably down the back of Frumpkin’s neck and along the tip of his tail. It was not a comfortable feeling.

The ship lurched sideways, and Frumpkin’s claws shot about an inch into the stovetop. Caduceus-tea-rot placidly began ladling soup into containers.

“Stay here for a little while,” Caduceus-tea-rot said. “I’ll go and tell Caleb that you’re alright.”

Frumpkin gave a mental shrug and settled back onto the warm stovetop. _Your loss, buddy_.

…

…

“Hello there, my friend.”

Frumpkin-as-an-octopus clacks his beak irately, tentacles flaring out around him. He is very small, and the stovetop is very far away. There are so many things he can do in this body, but it lacks the quiet finesse that comes with being a cat. Frumpkin-as-an-octopus would never complain, oh no, if this is what Caleb-warm-master wanted. Still. Being a cat is so much more _comfortable._

The air smells strongly of herbs, and from the kettle whistling off to the corner and the empty tea sachets on the bench, Frumpkin strongly suspects he has interrupted some kind of stress-tea-drinking ritual.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Caduceus-tea-rot reaches down to grab onto Frumpkin-as-an-octopus’s body. Just as he is about to deposit Frumpkin down onto the stove, Frumpkin wraps his tentacles around Caduceus-tea-rot’s wrist and holds on for all he is worth.

“Huh,” Caduceus-tea-rot says. “That’s strange.”

Frumpkin-as-an-octopus gives Caduceus-tea-rot his best glare.

“I’m just about to go and gather people up for dinner,” Caduceus-tea-rot says. “I’m not going to forget about Caleb, don’t you worry.”

Frumpkin-as-an-octopus does not let go.

Caduceus-tea-rot chuckles. “Do you want to come with me? I’ll go and get Caleb first, if you like. I haven’t seen him all day.”

Frumpkin-as-an-octopus thinks about this, and then pats two of his tentacles on Caduceus-tea-rot’s arm in acknowledgement. _Congratulations_ , he thinks. _That is not a terrible idea_.

Caduceus-tea-rot grins. Frumpkin has come to enjoy his company, if only because of his abundance of fur. Frumpkin has begun to develop a bias towards things-with-fur.

…

…

Caleb-warm-master hugs Frumpkin-as-an-octopus all throughout dinner, and doesn’t let go, not once.

…

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up :)
> 
> Sorry I'm so behind on replying to comments! Gosh, things have been *crazy*. I'll definitely have things up-to-date by the end of the week. Thanks so much for everyone being so supportive <3 <3


	6. Fjord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frumpkin-the-cat likes sleeping in the sun. The crew of The Ball Eater live in fear.

Relaxing is _hard work_.

No one has come anywhere close to Frumpkin’s chosen sunbaking spot in a good three hours, which is just how he likes it. This is partially because he had strategically chosen somewhere on deck with the express purpose of having minimal contact with the crew, and partially because they were all terrified he was going to bite them again. Frumpkin regards the people swarming around his ship with thinly veiled thread; _If you interrupt my nap_ , he thinks, _Caleb-warm-master is going to_ pop _me out for the things I’m going to do to you._

The message comes across. The crew stays out of Frumpkin’s way.

Frumpkin has had many opportunities to take in the atmosphere of the sea. Caleb-warm-master most definitely prefers the stillness of the land to the rolling motion of the waves, but Frumpkin doesn’t have any real preference. So long as there isn’t a storm, so long as Frumpkin doesn’t have to get his fur wet, he is quite content to laze around on deck and practice breathing.

He is getting better at it – mimicry. The first few years had been a real test of trial and error – over There, air had been an optional (if somewhat convenient) extra; Here, it is a necessity. There are so many parts to a physical body that require conscious thought. Frumpkin has become an expert of compartmentalization, but it’s a process. One that requires long periods of stillness in the sun. And naps. A lot of naps.

Someone settles down next to him.

Frumpkin opens up one eye to regard the interloper, cracking open his jaw and showing off his teeth in a kind of warning. _Come any closer, and I’ll bite_.

“Good afternoon, Frumpkin.”

Frumpkin settles back a little. It is just Fjord-drowned-thing; nothing to worry about. At least, Frumpkin _thinks_ that there is nothing to worry about. Caleb-warm-master has never really had to dictate how Frumpkin is supposed to feel about his chosen companions (otherwise, Frumpkin thinks, he and Nott-sharp-teeth would have a much more amicable relationship), but he’s been awful chatty on the subject of Fjord-drowned-thing these past few weeks.

Still. Today is good. The sea is calm, the sun is high and shining, and Fjord-drowned-thing is good at scratching behind Frumpkin’s ears just the way he likes it. Frumpkin isn’t going to complain until Caleb-warm-master gives him a reason to.

“You’ve certainly got the crew in a right tizzy,” Fjord-drowned-thing says. His voice is low and gentle, drawing out the words in a way that Frumpkin finds soothing. There are many things about Fjord-drowned-thing that Frumpkin finds soothing.

_If they hadn’t disrupted my nap time_ , Frumpkin thinks. _I wouldn’t have had to attack them._ He is a cat. He doesn’t know what the crew had been expecting, really, when they had tried to move him. They had actually attempted to _pick him up_ , the nerve. Frumpkin hopes those claw marks scar.

…he doesn’t _really_ hope those claw marks scar. Caleb-warm-master would be very disappointed in him if that happened. Nott-sharp-teeth would be amused, though. Does that balance it out? No, probably not. Caleb-warm-master has the final say on all things violence-related when it comes to Frumpkin.

Maybe biting down on that last man’s knuckles had been going too far. Just a little.

Frumpkin stares up at Fjord-drowned-thing, who is just sitting there, not moving. The light sea breeze brushes over his green skin and blows hair off his slightly sunburned cheeks. They are all a little darker, though Caleb-warm-master has more in resemblance to a boiled crab than, say, Beau. Frumpkin has watched Jester-blue-healer giggle to herself as she heals his patchwork of red skin every evening, running her fingers along his cheeks and across his wrists.

_Stop going outside_ , she says, every time. _You’re just making things worse_.

_I am not used to this amount of sunlight_ , Caleb-warm-master admits in a low voice. _It is…unsettling_.

Frumpkin can’t imagine not being able to go out into the sun. For most of his existence, Frumpkin hadn’t known the quiet pleasure of sitting still and soaking in the warmth of the sky. That Caleb-warm-master is unable to do so without spellcraft aid is…unsettling. Just a little. Frumpkin makes sure to sleep on Caleb-warm-master’s face a little more than usual after that realization, just to make sure he isn’t _cold_. Caleb-warm-master hadn’t appreciated the gesture as much as Frumpkin thought he should.

Fjord-drowned-thing drags his fingers lightly along Frumpkin’s spine, and Frumpkin lets out a rumbling purr. _Yes…yes, a little lower…just there, green one…_

Frumpkin wriggles his haunches and pulls in his shoulders. This is a good feeling. Frumpkin wouldn’t trade experiences like this for the world.

(He would trade them for Caleb-warm-master, though. If Caleb-warm-master wanted to stay inside and never see the sun again, Frumpkin would follow without a moment’s hesitation).

“I’ve missed this,” Fjord-drowned-thing says. It isn’t clear who he is talking to, if anyone, but Frumpkin perks his ears up in any case. “The feel of the sea beneath my feet. I’d forgotten just how much I loved sailing until now.”

_Keep scratching_ , Frumpkin thinks. He resettles himself against the rough wood of the deck, tail flicking back and worth. Fjord-drowned-thing lets out a soft huff of laughter.

“There’s nothing quite like it,” he says. His eyes are distant, old and other in a way that Frumpkin is intimately familiar with. “What I wouldn’t give…”

Frumpkin glances over at him. Fjord-drowned-thing has trailed off and is staring out at the blurred horizon. The sun is inching further away from Frumpkin’s back and towards the sea, resting at the bottom of the sky like a golden egg. Fjord-drowned-thing looks quietly, thoroughly entrapped by the glitter on the waves.

“It’s so easy to forget things out here,” Fjord-drowned-thing says. “The ocean is so big.”

Frumpkin hits him with his tail. _Don’t forget about my scratches_ , he thinks. _I’m right_ here _. No need to be rude_.

Fjord-drowned-thing laughs, and the spell – if that’s what it was – is broken. He reaches out to stroke a firm hand down Frumpkin, from his ears to the tip of his tail.

“I’d better go make sure Cad is going okay for dinner,” he says. He tickles Frumpkin’s ribs, but not in a mean way. His hands are gentle. “Are you going to be okay up here, all alone?”

Frumpkin gives him a disdainful look. Cats are very good at disdainful looks. _Obviously. That’s what I_ wanted _, before I was so rudely interrupted_.

Frumpkin has the feeling that Fjord-drowned-thing isn’t being intimidated. Probably because Frumpkin is lying.

“I’ll go make sure that Caleb gets something to eat,” Fjord-drowned-thing says. “So you can just stay here and relax for a little while longer.”

Frumpkin gives a soft sigh and settles himself back down, skin sinking heavily over his bones. _Remember to breathe_ , he thinks to himself. The sun is cracking open on the waves, spilling out red-and-pink-and-silver into the sky. Frumpkin watches with half-eyes and feels a deep purr well inside his chest.

_Maybe just a little more_ , he thinks, and goes back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo! sorry for the delay, I was a dumbass and left my laptop at work. I have my baby back now though! hope you enjoy Fjord's chapter <3
> 
> (I'm so behind on replies to comments you guys @_@ I'm going to get to them soon I promise!!)


	7. Yasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the Mighty Nein, Frumpkin thinks that Yasha-quiet-one would make the best cat.

The problem with people, Frumpkin has decided, is that they’re not cats.

Frumpkin understands how this can be a bit of a problem. He has spent a lot of time as-a-cat and as-not-a-cat, and he vastly prefers the former to the latter. There’s just something so satisfying about simultaneously being “the cutest thing in the history of ever” (as Jester-blue-healer had once put it) and “that dirty rat-sized snack from the bowels of hell” (as Nott-sharp-teeth had once put it). Being a cat is vastly superior to the alternative.

Caleb-warm-master’s chosen companions all suffer from the same sad affliction of not-being-a-cat, which Frumpkin finds both amusing and frustrating at equal turns. _There, there_ , he finds himself thinking every time something goes wrong. (Things go wrong a lot). _Just sleep on it. Everything turns out better after a good nap._

Though, even when they sometimes _do_ decide to take Frumpkin’s advice (Frumpkin must often to go rather…extreme lengths to get his point across, but there are no scars, so he’s probably in the right), they _do it wrong_. It is infuriating. Caleb-warm-master will go to bed, finally, after hours of prodding and poking and nipping, and then he will _not sleep_. If Frumpkin had human-eyes, they would be twitching.

He finds support in Yasha-quiet-one. Of all the Mighty Nein, Frumpkin thinks that she would make the best cat. (Though considering what Frumpkin has to work with, that was less of a compliment than he would have liked).

“Caleb, I think you should go to sleep,” Yasha-quiet-one says. They’re standing just outside their campsite, trees bracketing them in at all sides. A small brook is bubbling merrily in the corner. The scene is lit oddly by the dying embers of the campfire, everything muted and grey.

Frumpkin sits next to Yasha-quiet-one’s feet and yowls his vocal agreement.

Caleb-warm-master glares down at him, the bags underneath his eyes dark and pronounced. Over the years, Frumpkin has discovered a correlation to how haggard his face looks and how much sleep he has been pretending to have. Frumpkin is very much Not Amused.

“I am fine,” Caleb-warm-master says. He is clutching at his book with white, stiff fingers. “Just one more chapter, and then I will –”

Yasha-quiet-one lets out a soft, tired sigh. Frumpkin knows _just how she feels_. “If it were a…spell book, or something,” she says, picking over her words carefully. That is another thing that Frumpkin approves of about Yasha-quiet-one. She never rushes into things, unless she can rush them with a sword. Very cat-like, in Frumpkin’s cat-certified opinion. “But this is. One of Jester’s –”

Frumpkin watches with some interest as a blue slowly begins to stain her cheeks. He looks over to Caleb-warm-master, who is unruffled.

“They are surprisingly good,” Caleb-warm-master says, holding up the book cover to Yasha-quiet-one’s eye-level as a kind of ward against evil. Frumpkin tilts his head to get a closer look – there are two human-shaped people clutching each other in various states of undress. Frumpkin squints. Travelling with Jester-blue-healer has given him _some_ understanding of being-people-appropriate and being not-people appropriate, if only because of how everyone reacts to her. Frumpkin has a sneaky-suspicion that whatever Caleb-warm-master is currently reading is…less-than-people-appropriate.

“We have a long day tomorrow,” Yasha-quiet-one says. She looks deeply uncomfortable. Frumpkin approves – the first time _he_ tried to tell Caleb-warm-master what to do he had spent the entire night wondering if he was overstepping the line between master-and-creature. It had taken him a few months to learn that cats didn’t have _masters_ – at least, not in the traditional sense.

_Go to sleep_ , Frumpkin says. He considers biting Caleb-warm-master, but decides that (being as he was the more experienced cat-creature) he shouldn’t be teaching Yasha-quiet-one any bad habits. _I keep telling you to sleep, and you never listen! If you don’t listen to_ me _, listen to the quiet one. You will feel_ better in the morning _, or so help me –_

In a swift movement, almost too fast for Frumpkin’s cat-eyes to catch, Yasha-quiet-one lashes out and grabs the book out of Caleb-warm-master’s hands. Caleb-warm-master lets out a “Wait!” of protest, but Yasha-quiet-one is holding the book behind her back. Frumpkin loves Caleb-warm-master with every bit of his cat-body, but Yasha-quiet-one is very tall and Caleb-warm-master is bad at hitting things. Caleb-warm-master will _lose_.

Yasha-quiet-one looks less mortified and more annoyed, now. “I’ll give it back tomorrow,” she says. “Go to sleep.”

“Yasha,” Caleb-warm-master says warningly. “Give me back that book.”

“Tomorrow,” she says. 

Caleb-warm-master gives her a narrow look. “If you don’t give it back right now,” he says. “I will tell Jester that you stole it from me because you wanted to read it. She has a little library building up in her bag, you know.”

Yasha-quiet-one bares her teeth. Very cat-like. “And I’ll tell her you haven’t been sleeping.”

Frumpkin looks between the two. Yasha-quiet-one has the stubbornness of a cat, but Caleb-warm-master has the stubbornness of a stupid person. They’re fairly evenly matched, as far as he can tell.

_Why can’t you just have a nap_? Frumpkin thinks irately, getting onto his feet and walking behind Yasha-quiet-one. _Twenty minutes. Just have a twenty-minute nap. That’s all I’m asking here. You’re tired. You’re_ so tired _, it can’t be that hard –_

_Well. I warned you_.

Then Frumpkin leaps up and grabs the book out of Yasha’s hands, dashing off to dunk it in the water.

…

…

_It could be worse_ , Frumpkin thinks.

He is curled soggily into the crook of Yasha-quiet-one’s arm, fur fluffed up as far as it will go. Yasha-quiet-one is gently stroking her hand up and down his spine.

“He’ll get over it eventually,” she tells him. Frumpkin gives a sniff and hunches back further into his fur. He doesn’t think so. If Caleb-warm-master is good at anything (and Caleb-warm-master is good at _a lot_ of things), then he is good at holding a grudge.

Still. Still, Frumpkin doesn’t _really_ regret it. Caleb-warm-master has better things to do at night than look at not-human-appropriate books.

_At least I’ve got someone on my side_ , Frumpkin thinks. Yasha-quiet-one is a good heater. She is comfortable to lean against, and gentle with her large hands.

“You can stay around me until then, if you like,” Yasha-quiet-one says. Her voice is low, so as not to draw attention from the rest of the party, who had been woken up by the commotion. They’re all scattered around the dying campfire – Caleb-warm-master on the far side. His eyes glint over his sleeping bag, glaring. Jester-blue-healer is sitting cross-legged next to him, waving her arms around and recounting what little she could remember from the book Frumpkin had just destroyed.

Frumpkin glares right back. _Go to sleep, you stubborn wizard_.

Yasha-quiet-one leans back against a tree and looks up at the stars. With deliberate slowness that has _nothing to do_ with maintaining eye-contact with Caleb-warm-master, Frumpkin moves upwards from her arms to curls across her chest. Yasha-quiet-one closes her eyes and smiles.

_At least someone around here listens to me_ , Frumpkin thinks, and begins to purr. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely readers! 
> 
> A lot of my chapters seem to be about Caleb not getting enough sleep. I wonder if my brain is trying to tell me something... 
> 
> ALSO I'm so excited for Critical Role to come back this week!! I won't be able to watch live RIP thanks to the desk shift from hell, but I'm super hyped.


	8. Mighty Nein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb-warm-master's people are stupid, but Frumpkin loves them anyway.

Frumpkin is content with this, he thinks.

They’re all tucked tight under his watchful gaze – well, locked up in a jail cell, but Frumpkin isn’t expecting _miracles_. There are only so many good things that Caleb-warm-master’s people can do before they start to go a bit stir crazy. At least, that is what Frumpkin has gathered. Jester-blue-healer had grabbed him tight the moment they’d been thrown into the cell and started talking.

“We are here,” she tells him. Frumpkin isn’t quite sure he likes the way she’s holding him. His legs are dangling awkwardly in the air, front paws scrunched up to his neck. He certainly isn’t _uncomfortable_ , but. Well. It’s maybe a bit undignified. “Because _someone_ ” – Jester-blue-healer very deliberately does not look at Beau-gruff-voice – “decided it would be a good idea to start day drinking –”

“In my defence,” Beau-gruff-voice says. She is in a different cell, in manacles. Yasha-quiet-one is sitting next to her and patting her shoulder soothingly, manoeuvring around her own set of manacles. Frumpkin needs to find his cat-creature-in-training some better role models. “ _In my defence_ , if he hadn’t taken one look at me and started _laughing his ass off_ –”

Jester-blue-healer continues talking to Frumpkin as though she has not been interrupted. “– and started a brawl,” she says. “Which would have been _fine_. We have been in a lot of brawls before, and Yasha is usually big and scowly enough to scare away anyone who wants to _really_ start something. No offense, Fjord.”

“Hey!” Fjord-drowned-thing says. “I’m big and scowly!”

“You’re scowly,” Jester-blue-healer allows.

“I am _built_.”

“Yes, yes,” Jester-blue-healer says. “Whatever you want to think. _In any case_ ” – she turns her attention back to Frumpkin, who is beginning to feel distinctly like-a-prop – “We had Yasha, everything was fine, until Beau – I’m sorry, _a certain someone_ punched out the barkeeper.”

“He was a _pig_ ,” Beau-gruff-voice seethes. Yasha-quiet-one gives her another pat on the back. “He was the _aggressor_. Did you see how he was looking at you, Jester? I swear to whatever you want that I only wanted to get us another round of drinks.”

“She punched him straight through to the backroom,” Jester-blue-healer says. “Where there were a lot of people with a lot of money and a lot of. Things. Being sold.”

Fjord-drowned-thing gives a loud sigh, rubbing at his temples. Frumpkin would go over and give him a hug, but he is currently indisposed. He instead gives a sharp look over to Caduceus-tea-rot, who is furry enough to be a cat-substitute, to do it for him.

Caduceus-tea-rot shows no signs of developing telepathy. Frumpkin grows more and more annoyed by people-limitations by the day. He does, however, give Fjord-drowned-thing something small sewn into the lining of his coat with a murmur of “lavender, good for headaches”. Fjord-drowned-thing presses it under his nose and inhales with the desperation of a man. Well. Drowning.

Before Frumpkin was summoned to Here, he had never been on the receiving end of a “headache”. He’s rather displeased to find that he can, in fact, feel Caleb-warm-master’s own pain building up through his skull as Caleb-warm-master looks through his eyes and listens through his ears.

“ _Two hours_ ,” Caleb-warm-master mutters to himself. “ _I leave them alone for two hours, and I come back to find them arrested –”_

Frumpkin narrows his eyes. _You chose these people-things_ , he thinks. _Not me_. Caleb-warm-master can’t quite hear him, but the sentiment is clear enough. Caleb-warm-master doesn’t seem to be amused.

“Maybe don’t try and shoot the guards,” Yasha-quiet-one says. “That seems like it would be an, ah, bad idea.”

Everyone in the jail turns to stare at her.

Yasha-quiet-one shrugs. “Nott just messaged me. She wants to shoot the guards.”

“Of course she does,” Beau-gruff-voice mutters.

“I vote no,” Fjord-drowned-thing says.

“I agree with Fjord,” Jester-blue-healer says. “Shooting the guards would be a very bad idea. There is almost a week of journeying before we reach somewhere else, and as much as I like camping, I also like sleeping on a mattress.”

 _Hear that?_ Frumpkin things. Caleb-warm-master’s headache spikes. _They think it’s a stupid idea, too_.

“Are you watching this?” Fjord-drowned-thing says, leaning over so that he can properly look at Frumpkin. Finally. Some actual respect. Now, if Jester-blue-healer could actually _hold_ him correctly… “Can you hear us?”

Caleb-warm-master tells Frumpkin to nod. Frumpkin thinks about it, because he is a cat, and then nods, because he isn’t _all_ -cat.

“Excellent,” Fjord-drowned-thing says. “Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully, I know exactly how to get us out of this predicament that we have found ourselves in. It’s very simple, and Nott is rich, so this will work: _pay the bail_.”

“No, we do not just use you for your money,” Yasha-quiet-one says after a long moment. “You have many other talents. Such as shooting things.” Another pause. “No, I think we’ve tabled that idea for a little bit.”

“How much is the bail for all five of us?” Jester-blue-healer wonders. “I know Nott has a lot of money, but she keeps buying things for Caleb, and I don’t think –”

“Yes, you are very responsible with your funds,” Yasha-quiet-one says. “It is very impressive. And of course you can spend your money on whatever you like.”

“Five people and a cat,” Fjord-drowned-thing muses. “Does the cat need bail?”

Frumpkin wriggles around in Jester-blue-healer’s hands, until she puts him down onto the ground. He stretches out his muscles and sits in the middle of the room, licking the fur on his paws back into place. He wants to say, _Caleb-warm-master can_ pop _me outside whenever he wants_ , but there is no one to listen to him. Oh, well. They will remember Frumpkin’s amazing incredible cat-skills with time. And besides – Frumpkin judges the distance between the cell bars – he can probably just walk out.

“Cats don’t need bail,” Jester-blue-healer says. “That’s _silly_. Animals shouldn’t count as accessories to drug-deals.”

“We were just innocent bystanders!” Fjord-drowned-thing says. “I don’t understand why _we’re_ accessories to a drug deal.”

“I think we were arrested for the property damage,” Caduceus-tea-rot says, leaning back serenely against the wall and twiddling his thumbs. His eyes are closed, like it’s about to go to sleep. Frumpkin wants a nap. “And the verbal assault. And the actual assault.”

“C’mon, he was a drug dealer!” Beau-gruff-voice says. “That’s like a freebie, right?”

“The barkeeper wasn’t a drug dealer,” Fjord-drowned-thing says.

“Yasha punched him too, though. You saw her! Yasha doesn’t punch people unless they deserve it.”

“Oh, no, I was following your lead,” Yasha-quiet-thing says. Frumpkin lets out a little huff. He _really_ needs to get her a better role model. Frumpkin is as fond of Beau-gruff-voice as he can be, but some of the things that she does aren’t quite cat-appropriate. They’re _definitely_ not people-appropriate.

“I just wanted to sit down and have a glass of milk,” Jester-blue-healer says grumpily. She grabs back onto Frumpkin and squeezes him around the middle.

Beau-gruff-voice gives them a tired look from behind her separate set of bars. “I’m sorry, Jess.”

Jester-blue-healer hides her face in Frumpkin’s fur. “I guess it’s okay,” she says, voice coming out muffled. She peeks up. “And I guess his face _was_ pretty funny when he went through the door.”

“No, do not do that!” Yasha says, voice uncharacteristically high and urgent. “Bad plan. Very bad plan. Don’t do that.”

Frumpkin worries about these people, he really does.

…

…

“You know,” Nott-sharp-teeth says. “We could just leave them in there.”

Frumpkin gives him a judgemental look from across Caleb-warm-master’s shoulder. He is a cat. He is very good at judgemental looks.

“It doesn’t even have to be forever,” Nott-sharp-teeth says, warming to the idea. “Let’s just let them stew for a few hours. Give them some time to think about the consequences of their actions.”

“Nott,” Caleb-warm-master says.

“What?” Nott-sharp-teeth says. “There have to be better things this money could be spent on. Like buttons. You know, I saw these really nice glass buttons at a stall –”

“Nott,” Caleb-warm-master says.

“Fine,” Nott-sharp-teeth says. “How about we just get _Jester_ out –”

“Nott.”

Nott-sharp-teeth sighs. Frumpkin leans over from Caleb-warm-master’s shoulder, balancing precariously on three paws, and pokes Nott-sharp-teeth with his claws. Nott-sharp-teeth gives a low hiss and jumps back.

“Fine,” she says. “ _Fine_ , ruin my fun. I’m not going in there, though. Here’s the money” – she gives Caleb-warm-master her coin purse – “and if it comes up a bit short, we can always just leave Beau behind –”

“Nott,” Caleb-warm-master says, but he’s sort-of-not-really laughing, so he doesn’t really mean it. Nott-sharp-teeth can tell that, too, because her mouth stretches wide underneath her porcelain mask.

“I’ll be waiting out here,” she says. “You go get these idiots out of jail.”

Caleb-warm-master reaches up to scratch Frumpkin behind the ears. “Come on, then,” he says. “Let’s go get our family.”

…

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god only one more chapter to go...
> 
> I don't know what I'll do when I'm finished. I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. 
> 
> (Thank you seriously to everyone who is reviewing - I'll have your replies up by tomorrow <3 they seriously mean the world to me)


	9. Molly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts are annoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End

“You know,” Caleb-warm-master says, voice soft and small in the wideness of the night. “Cats are supposed to be able to see ghosts.”

Frumpkin lets out a small sound of contentment as Caleb-warm-master strokes a firm hand down his spine. He wonders if Caleb-warm-master is cold. It is certainly a chilly night. The campfire sits in front of them as a pile of unlit wood. Caleb-warm-master would light it quite easily – Frumpkin has seen him do it before – but tonight, he doesn’t. He just sits in the dark and shivers, body wrapped around Frumpkin’s slight weight. His breath mists against the back of Frumpkin’s neck.

“I wonder if you can see mine.”

…

…

_You asshole_ , Frumpkin thinks.

He still isn’t quite sure what that means, but he’s heard Nott-sharp-teeth _and_ Jester-blue-healer say it before, so the insult has been verified by the two people that Frumpkin feels are experts on the subject. Caleb-warm-master tries not to encourage such deviant behaviour in his cat, but Frumpkin has gotten good at thinking people-inappropriate-thoughts out of eyesight and has thus far avoided any consequences. He doesn’t know _what_ Caleb-warm-master would do, but it would probably be awful. Like give Frumpkin a look of profound disappointment. Or stop giving him ear-scritches.

Even with Caleb-warm-master in the room, however, the situation warrants insults. Frumpkin glares at the space between the window and the bed, seething. Molly-red-eyes, the _bastard_ , just smiles and waves.

Caleb-warm-master is made grim in grief, blankets pulled up to his chin and book propped up against his mummified knees. Nott-sharp-teeth isn’t much better. She keeps going outside at night, where Frumpkin can’t see her. Frumpkin tried following, once, but the anxiety of leaving Caleb-warm-master alone for too long had itched under his fur the whole time. Now, Frumpkin has just resigned himself to staying still until Nott-sharp-teeth comes back, which sometimes takes _ages_.

(Everyone else feels cold. When Frumpkin sees them, they have smiles painted over thin skin and bruises under their eyes).

“Well,” Molly-red-eyes drawls out, looking around the room. He has his arms crossed over his chest, scars pulled white. “At least I’m being mourned.”

Frumpkin tries to bite him.

“Hey, hey, easy there,” Molly-red-eyes says. He doesn’t move. Frumpkin is biting thin air. He thinks about stopping, but the catharsis is too great. _You asshole. Going and dying on my human like that_. _As if he didn’t have enough issues_. “You’re going to tear an artery with those teeth of yours.”

Frumpkin’s tail lashes out and he bites down again, harder. His teeth stab into the fleshy part of his tongue and he gives a small hiss of frustration, opening his mouth.

Caleb-warm-master looks up.

“Frumpkin?” he says, wriggling around underneath his cocoon of blankets so that he’s resting his torso against the headboard. Nott-sharp-teeth is away on her nightly haunts. Jester-blue-healer had popped her head in earlier in the evening to make sure that they were still here, but no one else had made a habit out of wandering into the others’ rooms late at night. Frumpkin wonders if she’s going to be coming back later. Jester-blue-healer doesn’t do well alone.

“What’s the matter? Come here.”

Frumpkin very deliberately turns his back on Molly-red-eyes and goes over to sit on Caleb-warm-master’s bed. Caleb-warm-master lifts him up and drapes him across his shoulders, scratching the top of Frumpkin’s head in just the right way. Frumpkin closes his eyes and melts into Caleb-warm-master’s neck, purring.

When he opens them again, Molly-red-eyes is gone.

…

…

It happens again.

Frumpkin is curled up next to Jester-blue-healer, revelling in her warmth as she talks animatedly to a-very-tired-looking-Nott-sharp-teeth. Her arms fly through the air as she emphasises all the interesting parts of her story (they’re all the interesting parts, of course), so Frumpkin has to adjust his head every few moments. He doesn’t mind. It’s nice being here, in the centre of Caleb-warm-master’s knot of friends. He has _friends_. Frumpkin is so proud.

“– and then he asked if Mama thought his dick was –”

“ _No_ ,” Nott-sharp-teeth gasps, delighted. She’s half-in-half-out of her bedroll, blinking hard every few minutes to keep from passing out. Nott-sharp-teeth is enthralled, though.

Jester-blue-healer nods, her arms pulling out from her chest to insinuate length. She’s giggling madly.

“That sounds a bit rude,” Caduceus-tea-rot says, biting back his own yawn. It really is too late to be telling stories. Frumpkin needs to train these people into better sleeping patterns. Maybe starting with Caleb-warm-master was a bit too much of a challenge for his first try. Fjord-drowned-thing is probably an easier target. Frumpkin will try on Fjord-drowned-thing next.

“ _Shh_ ,” Caleb-warm-master says. “She’s getting to the good part.”

“How do you even know?” Caduceus-tea-rot says. “Have you told this story before?”

“Not this one,” Caleb-warm-master says. “But there’s a general theme that I’ve been able to discern –”

“Shut up!” Beau-gruff-voice calls from across the camp. “I’m trying to listen!”

“Aren’t you on watch?”

Jester-blue-eyes crosses her arms across her chest. Frumpkin’s head jolts. “Do you guys want to hear the story, or not? Because I can just –”

Frumpkin’s head snaps up.

Molly-red-eyes is sitting on a tree-root as thick as a bench, chin resting on the open palm of his hand. He’s got one leg dangling against the ground and the other kicked up to the side, brilliant coat flared out. Frumpkin bares his teeth.

_Go away_ , he thinks. _You died. You have no right to these people any longer_.

Molly-red-eyes glances his way, and then puts a finger to his lips. Frumpkin bites back a hiss.

“I want to hear the rest of the story,” Molly-red-eyes mouths.

“– and I _definitely_ wasn’t supposed to see that, because when Mama found out she almost had a heart attack. She told me, _My little Sapphire, if you ever try that again, I’m going to have to get very angry with someone_ , but when I tried to tell her that the Traveller –”

Frumpkin settles back, but he doesn’t look away from where Molly-red-eyes is sitting. He just sits there and watches as Jester-blue-healer continues with her story and doesn’t say a word.

…

…

The first time Frumpkin sees Molly-red-eyes, he is vibrant and bright and alive.

The last time Frumpkin sees Molly-red-eyes, he is being _a dick_ and making faces behind Yasha-quiet-one as she talks to Beau-gruff-voice.

(He is still very much dead).

…

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me guys :) sorry this last chapter took so long. Molly was a bitch to write (which feels very in-character to me, haha). 
> 
> I was thinking - I don't know if anyone is interested, but I'd love to keep going with Frumpkin and make this into a series. Like, Frumpkin's thoughts on characters like Avantika, or Spurt (HAHAHA). 
> 
> But yeah. Thank you so much, guys. For everything <3


End file.
